For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Bond” wc 888
At first, it was the same brand of coffee.
“All gone…” Harry laments, speaking to no one in particular as he peers into the empty coffee jar.
“Ah, Merlin’s ball sack,” comes Malfoy’s voice over his shoulder. “That other stuff is rubbish.”
Harry turns to him. “Er, yeah. Suppose you’re right.”
Malfoy looks just as horrified by their agreement as Harry feels.
Then it was the same type of quill nib.
“I know I’ve got one in here,” Harry mutters, rummaging through his briefcase.
“Alright, Potter?” Malfoy asks, peering up from his side of the table.
“Favourite quill nib broke, and I can’t find any spares,” Harry replies.
Two seconds later, Harry feels the sharp tap of metal bouncing off his head and then onto the desk.
“They’re my favourite too,” Malfoy says, as if that is a perfectly acceptable reason for throwing a nib at him.
Harry nods at Malfoy. “Ah, thanks.”
Malfoy gives a small, shy nod back.
After that, it was the same book.
Spring — Hogwarts Grounds
“Hermione tells me I need to read more,” Harry says. “And I do, only it’s fiction. Which apparently isn’t enlightening enough.”
Malfoy chuckles lightly. “I won’t disagree with Granger, but I do love a good novel. What are you reading?”
They come to a stop by the Black Lake, and Harry is suddenly thrown by how the morning sun dances across the water, bright and pale as Malfoy’s hair.
Harry blinks. “Oh, sorry—I’ve just finished reading the third instalment of The Rising of the Coast, and it was—”
“Third?” Malfoy cuts in with a frown. “That’s not out until the end of the year.”
“You’ve read The Rising of the Coast?”
“Have I read The Rising of the Coast?” Malfoy repeats incredulously. “How have you got the latest instalment?”
Heat blooms across Harry’s cheeks. “Erm… the publisher sent me a copy of the manuscript.”
Malfoy looks pained to say it. “Lucky sod. I can’t wait to read that.”
“Well…” Harry starts cautiously. “It’s in my quarters, if you want to borrow it?”
A ghost of a smile touches Malfoy’s mouth. “I suppose I might.”
Then came the same realisation.
Summer — Malfoy’s Classroom
“You’ve got three jars of lizard livers,” Harry says. “Though I think you should only write down two. This third one looks off.”
“Pass it here?” Malfoy asks.
He takes the jar, pops the lid, gives it a cursory sniff, gips, then Vanishes it sharply with his wand.
“Remind me not to let students help themselves next year. None of them ever put things back properly.”
It’s the end of the school year, and Harry is helping Malfoy count stock in his Potions supply cupboard. From where he’s squatting on the floor, attention now meant to be on the number of lizard tongue jars, he looks up at Malfoy instead.
Malfoy is scratching away at his clipboard, all heavy focus and sharp jawline, silver eyes glimmering under the low amber light of the single lantern as he counts empty vials.
It hits Harry then that he has two months without this.
And he doesn’t like that.
“Any plans for the holidays?” Harry asks, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels.
Malfoy shakes his head. “Nope. You?”
“Taking you out on a date.”
Malfoy looks at him, and the arch of his brow does nothing to hide the pink blush spreading across his cheeks.
“You asking me out from the floor of a Potions supply cupboard?”
Malfoy considers it for a moment, then grins.
Finally came the same future.
Autumn — Harry’s Quarters
“Get off me, you—Draco, stop it!” Harry laughs, making no real effort to stop Draco from attacking his neck with kisses.
“It’s your fault,” Draco groans as he finally pulls away. “You’re too fit.”
“We’re going to be late.”
Harry drags himself out of bed, avoiding Draco’s half-hearted attempts to pull him back in. He starts to dress, unable to stop himself from looking at Draco now that he can.
He can look at Draco all he wants, and Draco can look at him too, and they do that a lot these days.
Look and touch and kiss and spend an exorbitant number of hours between the sheets together.
“Let’s skip dinner,” Draco says, propping himself up on one arm. Moonlight cuts through the window, drowning him in white, making him look even more ethereal than he already is. “Let’s go down to the kitchens later and bring food back.”
“We need to show our faces in the Great Hall at some point, you know. People are starting to talk,” Harry says.
However, the thought of spending another night in bed with his boyfriend does sound appealing.
“Let them talk, Harry. We’ve nothing to hide. Right?”
Underneath the question is a faint thread of unmissable worry.
Half-dressed, Harry kneels on the edge of the bed and leans over Draco. He kisses him once, slowly.
“I’m not hiding you from anyone, Draco. It would be terribly inconvenient to do that for the rest of my life.”
He feels the curve of Draco’s lips against his own.
This is what a bond really is. A hundred small moments, quietly choosing the same thing.
